PoemsBrowse PoemsSlamsFresh DropEchoes
LearnWriting TipsPoetry TermsPoets & ArtistsBooksFor Teachers
ExplorePoetry GenomePoem MapEchoesTake ActionGroups
AboutWrite a PoemDonateSign UpLog In

#BlackLivesMatter


I'm afraid for my unborn son. He cannot come until this war is won. I don't want him to not come home one night. Can't go out or live his life because he's not white. Police brutality is ending lives and destroying families. They don't even care as long as it's not little Billy or Emily. Lil Billy steals a pack of gum "give him a break he's young". Tyrone takes a pack of fugs he's automatically a thug who can no longer feel his mother's hug. This stuff is real. This new reality has taken the life of a black girl named Camille. America has never been the land of the free. Unless you were a white man living here in 1843. It's 2015. It's still not ok to be me.

©All Rights Reserved

Something wrong with this poem?

Share

Replies are closed for this poem.

hiimkamy

Care Free Black Girl. Professional Drink Spiller. Tired, but I’m fired up!

View all poems →

Your Poem's Voice

See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.

Comments (4)

hiimkamy
Thank you so much!
Joelsoul22
<p>this is a beautiful poem, it's well written, hits straight to the heart, and the rhyme scheme flows well.</p>
hiimkamy
Thank you!
tiarapasco
<p>love it!</p>

Log in to leave a comment.